


Real.

by everlarkedandalways



Category: Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: F/M, everlark, the hunger games - Freeform, thg
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-21
Updated: 2016-05-21
Packaged: 2018-06-09 17:45:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6917095
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/everlarkedandalways/pseuds/everlarkedandalways
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everlark grows back together in a beautiful way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Real.

I catch him looking at me again. Just like in school for all those years, Peeta’s blue eyes avoiding my stare. 

For a couple of months now, our daily routine includes tending the primrose bushes, watching the sunset together and drinking tea on my front porch. He holds his mug up to his lips, gently blowing at the steamy liquid. His eyes meet mine as he takes a sip. I can almost see his thoughts forming.

“You like when I make cheese buns for you. Real or not real?” he finally asks. The question makes my mouth instantly water. Just the thought of cheese buns brings back the buttery bread stuffed with gooey cheese.

“Yes!” I say with a giant smile. I hope my enthusiasm is enough to convince him to bake some. It feels like a lifetime ago that he brought them to me everyday. 

The next morning, there are cheese buns. Sae is delighted by the new addition to our morning eggs, berries and bacon. She’s even more thrilled that I eat three whole buns in one sitting. She leaves us to our conversation about what seeds for our garden should be ordered in the next Capitol shipment. We’ve finally narrowed it down to the ten plants we know will thrive here, when he gives me that look again.  
I know this look well. A thought or memory is confusing him and it can go one of two ways: he fights off the flashbacks or he asks me for the truth.

“Ask me, Peeta,” I plead in barely a whisper. The look on his face combined with his hesitation is making it unbearable. “Ask me…please.”

He sighs. “You were excited about us getting engaged. Real or not real?” I wince at the question and his face immediately falls. He tries to hide his disappointment with a smile. It hangs heavy between us. I hate hurting him. I hate that he has to see my manipulative self.  
“I’m sorry. Not real.” I know I have to be honest with him to help him sort out the blurry parts. “We were trying to convince Snow that what we had was real.” The statement

He grabs my hand as if he knows what my thoughts are. His warmth immediately envelops my cold fingers. I intertwine our fingers in friendship, like the thousands of other times we’ve held each other’s hands. He lifts my chin to meet his eyes, demanding my attention.

“Don’t apologize. You saved us. I know that. We wouldn’t be here without what you did--what we did--to save each other. Don't be sorry." 

Peeta brushes away the tears that I try so hard to keep from falling. I want nothing more than for him to hold me, but I know we’re not ready for that yet. So I settle for holding his hands in mine.

……………………………………….

The last heat of summer lingers as the beginning of Autumn arrives. The leaves have just begun to fall and we’ve added raking our garden into the daily routine. 

Peeta attempts to sing with me as he adds the last of the leaves into the pile. I watch his pink, full lips as he continues to sing and it's not until he looks up at me that I realize I've stopped singing or raking altogether. 

I've been caught staring. 

"Wow. Even the Mockingjay stops to hear me sing." I laugh and roll my eyes. 

It's an awful joke since I am definitely no longer the Mockingjay. That's a term we save for when we talk about the "rebel me." It's comical because we both know Peeta can't sing.

I want to say my cheeks are bright red from his teasing, but I know it’s more from getting caught staring at his lips. I'm compelled more and more to stare at him with each passing day.

I can hear his footsteps crunching on the gravel behind me as I walk towards the shed at the back of the house. He reaches around me to put the rake away and when I turn to face him, I've still got a smirk on my face. 

"My singing is that good."

I quirk an eyebrow up at him. "Stop. You're just embarrassing yourself now."

He leans against the wall, blocking me from leaving. "I'm the funniest guy you know. Real or not real?" 

I deadpan, "Not real. It's totally Haymitch." The disbelief on his face is worth all the sarcasm. I step around him with a teasing smile as I head toward the house to make our tea. 

He groans and shouts, "Say, 'Real!'" 

His hand catches mine and pulls me back to him. I live for these small touches we've added to our days. 

His face is buried in my hair as he’s holding me against him when he whispers, “Say, ‘real.’" 

“Fine! Real," I laugh and pull away.

He's still holding my hand as we walk back to my house, neither one of us letting go.

………………………………….

The first time he hears me screaming, he pounds on my front door until I finally let him in. I’m completely confused and disoriented that I don’t give a second thought to answering the door in a tank top and boy shorts. It's not until I notice his expression and how his eyes are fighting hard to stay connected with mine, that I realize how little I'm actually wearing. Although I insist he can go back home, he sleeps on my couch that night, “just in case.”

The second time he hears my nightmares I don't hear him pounding on the door. Nothing was going to pull me out tonight--except for Peeta. I wake up sobbing in his arms. When I realize that he's finally here with me, fighting off my nightmares, I wrap my arms around his neck. I don't want him to leave...ever.

I wake up in the exact same position that I had fallen asleep in, but now I’m fully aware of him. How my face is lying against his neck, warm and steady with sleep. How his arms fit me so well, broad and strong, but gentle. How he’s only wearing sweats and my legs are intertwined with his. I’m not moving from this place.

His arms tighten around me and his lips brush my forehead. I look up and smile, “No nightmares.” Peeta smiles, “No nightmares.” It’s an echo from our past, but this time it’s free from fear, free from the dread of another arena and free from the complications that my life was so full of not so long ago.

I feel his nose on my head when he mumbles, “You feel safe in my arms. Real or not real?” A contented sigh escapes my lips and with a smirk I ask, “Hmmmmm? You feel safe in my arms. Real or not real?” I can feel his body laugh in reply, “Real.”

I don't hesitate and tilt my head up to him.Our lips meet like they have thousands of times before, but this time, it means more than all of those kisses combined. It's soft and warm and familiar and so wonderfully good. We spend that morning rediscovering each other's lips.

…………………………..

Peeta and I exchange keys to each other's houses in case something happens again like the "nightmare night” two weeks ago. He reasoned that my screaming was worthy of breaking the glass on my back door. But we really have no need of those keys because we're never really apart. There are a couple of hours apart where he bakes and I hunt, but we always come together for breakfast. 

When I return from the woods, he's in my kitchen cleaning up the last of the bowls he used this morning for bread. On Tuesdays we hand out loaves of bread to some of the families we know don't get enough to eat. I line my hunting boots up with Peeta's shoes next to the door. Something about seeing his things with mine makes me happy. 

"Hey. You're back," he says with a gorgeous smile. 

I lean over the counter and give him a kiss. I love this new familiarity between us. "Hey." 

He comes around to wrap his arms around me. "I'm going to run home and shower. I got flour in my hair."

I reach up to run my hand through his wavy blonde hair, and my hand comes out a dusty white, landing on me as well. "Yup," I smile. "You did." 

“Now we both need a shower,” he replies with that crooked grin. I feel the warmth in my cheeks at his implication. We haven’t done more than amazingly good kissing, but “more” is something we’ve both wanted since we were in the cave. 

My thoughts and his teasing have made me uncomfortably hot. So I pull away and distract myself by pouring a glass of water. 

“Why don’t you shower here? I have towels and water and soap…” 

“You don’t want me to leave your side? Real or not real?” he asks me jokingly.

I don’t. I want him with me...always.

I put the glass down. I wrap my arms around his neck and kiss him gently. Our lips are still touching when I say, “Real.”

………………………………….

It only took us a month before we knew we needed this day. Johanna and Effie arrive on the train together, bringing gifts and news. My mom has been here a week, helping me and visiting with those who have returned to District 12.

Our home is prepared for a celebration, a small gathering with a few of our friends. There are candles lit that cover the mantle, the tables and our front porch. Spread throughout the candles and our house are small clear glasses filled with yellow primroses from our garden. The light from the setting sun is streaming through our front window and this moment couldn’t be more perfect.

The toasting only takes a moment. There are hugs and joyful tears from all of us because we’ve all suffered so much. We are so grateful for this happiness. 

Peeta pulls warm bread from the oven and serves it alongside my lamb stew that I made with my father’s recipe. Haymitch provides the wine. Effie and my mother are arranging the desserts Peeta made earlier that day. Johanna’s pulling out the dishes and glasses. 

We eat. We drink. We break bread. We share stories, carefully treading through the ones that hurt. We cry tears. 

I raise my glass, “I want to make a toast to Prim who wouldn’t let me give up on you, Peeta. For her beauty that I’ll always carry with me and for her love for others that will always remain. She would have loved to see me marry you.” I raise my glass to Peeta who squeezes my hand, “For Prim.”

Everyone in unison raises their glasses, “For Prim.”

Peeta hugs me because the tears won’t stop and I feel another set of arms come around me. Then another and another until we’re all standing there in silence. 

Our guests make quick work of the dishes and clean up, saying they don't want us wasting time on that. Johanna ushers everyone out and gives me a final encouraging look as she shuts the door. 

Peeta scoops me up and runs me up the stairs taking two steps at a time. I laugh loudly as he tosses me on the bed jumping in after me.

His shirt, my dress, his pants all end up in a heap on the floor in between our kisses. It's frenzied and overdue and perfect. The need to feel his skin on mine overtakes all else and I pull him down for a long kiss, his body completely covering mine. 

The moment we connect between awkward movements and bated breaths, I realize this would have happened anyway. That we were always meant to be here.

So when he whispers, “You love me. Real or not real?”

I tell him, “Real,” because it's always been real.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading. I hope you enjoyed the glimpse into my headcanons. Check out everlarkedalways.tumblr.com for more Everlark. Like lots of it.


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